I have never really been a fan of ‘being outdoors.’  I suppose that’s part of my attraction to artmaking.  In my childhood my mom had an “art table” set up in the kitchen, next to our guinea pigs and the bay window overlooking our garden.  I would spend hours inside, drawing and painting at that table.  Looking out the window, I recall the bleeding hearts most vividly, along with the marigolds that I helped plant every year, and the rhubarb with its poisonous leaves and the delicious pies and jams that I helped make.  The cottonwoods beyond the garden distributed a fluffy summer coating of ‘snow,’ and I learned to love depicting leaves as hearts because of them, the birch tree in the front of our home, and the heart-leafed vine-y house plant beside me.  The safety of the art table, with my mom’s four-foot Victory Garden cross stitch above it, kept me away from bug bites, sweat, and sunburn.  Winter, therefore, was my favorite season. Once bundled up and cozy, I would walk with my younger brother and our sleds to Seager Park, a tiny forest preserve near my home in Naperville, IL.  Rosy cheeked and tired, we would return home to hot chocolate with marshmallows, and a quilt to snuggle in by the fireplace.